


Fortunate Son

by bexacaust



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Bad Politics and Worse Tempers, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 07:39:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6973477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bexacaust/pseuds/bexacaust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And when you ask them <br/>“How much should we give?”<br/>Oh, they only answer<br/>“More and more and more…”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fortunate Son

“And where is your Head Scientist? I would have thought he would have been here at the shuttlebay.”

“Dunno. Probably in the lab.”, answered Rodimus, “But, I really don’t think you should bug him Optimus. He’s been having a weird day ever since we said you’d be here for a bit.”

“Strange.”

“Whirl said it was a Wrecker thing; Mags agreed so who am I to interfere on Percy’s me-time?”

“I suppose I’ll at least stop in. It has been a while since I saw Prowl’s Science Prodigy.”

“…Hey, Op?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t call him that to his face. Last one to do that got shot… Really bad. Seventeen hours of surgery bad.”

Optimus nodded, his expression gently surprised. Rodimus watched the Prime turn and leave through the main doors into the ship’s innards and sighed. He ha a really bad feeling, and communicated as much with a look to Megatron. The ex-Warlord nodded, and followed the wayward warrior.

Rodimus shook his head, standing in the quiet. He had a bad feeling coiling behind his chestplate.

He hoped nothing went wrong.

Whirl lazed in Perceptor’s lab, optic dim as he dozed. He had clattered in, all awkward angles and crooked precision to click his pincer’s for Perceptor’s attention.

“Yo, Hotshot.”

“Yes Whirl.”

“Bigwig on board. Mind if I chill here for a bit?”

“… What level of ‘bigwig’ are we talking about here?”

“A holy roller with a side of messiah. Walkin’ on sunshine as per usual.”

“….You are welcome as long as you need. Touch nothing with a radioactivity warning.”

“Can do my mech. Just gonna catch some z’s if it’s all good.”

“Shove the desk to the wall then. There’s blankets and a heavy pillow in the side office closet.”

“Thanks mech.”

“You know how it is, Whirl.”, said Perceptor, “We wreckers-”

“Take care of our own.”, finished the copter, “Still. Thanks, Perce.”

Whirl clacked about before settling down, and here they were; Whirl in a pile of sharp angles and soft vents and Perceptor working quietly at his console, typing reports and humming absently.

And the door hissed open.

“Perceptor, Whirl. How are you?”

The room seems to drop ten degrees in temperature.

“Fine.”, was the answer in unison; the tones bitter and acidic like liquid sulfur against deep sea currents. The salt in the eddies of consonants stung their throats and burned the air as that single word spread like smog. 

Optimus stepped further in, seeming to brush the wisps of smoke from the burnt air aside in his oblivious display of instant comfort, “How have you both been? I was surprised not to see you at the shuttlebay, Perceptor.”

“I did not feel the need to be present before a Prime.”, said Perceptor almost too level; like the forced balance of a house of cards, “So I kept to my place.”

Optimus laughed then; no doubt it was meant to be friendly, a reaction to words unpredicted… 

Didn’t stop it from being the wrong move.

Whirl rose in an unfolding, like a paper crane of ill-tidings as Perceptor turned enough to glance over an unadorned shoulder.

“Anyway, can we help ya or ya just keeping up appearances?”

Optimus flared briefly, “That is no way to speak to your superior.”

“You’re a lot of things…”

“But OUR superior is not one of them.”, spat Perceptor, turning fully now, “I will salute Prowl willingly before I take knee before YOU.”

Optimus took a step back.

Whirl, however took a step forward.

“At least the TacHead pretended to care about our units. C’mon, can you even name five of us without an attendance sheet?”

“Of course he can’t, Whirl. That would require admitting we were soldiers. Or real, for that matter. This is the mech who covered us in the name Black Ops so he never had to say what we REALLY were.”

“Ya mean a death sentence?”

“Sounds nicer than a suicide squad.”

“Now see here, the Wreckers were respected members of the Autobot Ranks-”

“Oh? We WERE?”, said Whirl, his voice mockingly surprised, “Do ya hear that Perceptor? We was RESPECTED and all that slag!”

“Oh good heavens, let me freshen up in the powder room before I receive my medals of valor- OH, WAIT. That’s right, I don’t get credit for lives saved because my very DEPLOYMENT was considered a WAR CRIME.”

“Don’t forget the medics and their ‘dose ‘em and ghost ‘em cause you’ll never see a Wrecker twice’ slag we had to deal with.”

“The eons of thirty klik countdowns, even during diplomacy eras.”

“Centuries of hiding the emblem cause you’ll be followed by seven Enforcers at all times.”

“Walks into a bar, walks out with three arrest warrants wondering what the hell you did wrong.”

Whirl and Perceptor’s voices bounced off of each other, like the echoes in a burning church, like the sound of a holy Crusade gone awry and they advanced like a supercell.

Optimus could do nothing but step back.

Whirl narrowed his optic,”I coulda made gorgeous things, y’kow, if I STILL HAD HANDS.”, and the pincers clacked at Optimus like they’d pluck out his optics; a hellish raven for the Odin of a New Age.

“I could have been HAPPY, I could have SAVED PEOPLE, but the cause needed a poster mech and who better to build it than someone who’s dreams weren’t DEAD YET?!”, snarled Perceptor, optic scope flickering and a bright red dot appearing between Optimus’s optics.

“I coulda had a nice comfy life there, Prime, but nah; your senate needed a Monster of the Day and I just HAPPENED to sneeze louder’n normal that day!”, rumbled Whirl.

“I was a scientist, I was CONTENT, AND NOW LOOK AT ME.”, snapped Perceptor, “All of THIS to serve a cause that ABANDONED US. A cause you STILL PEDDLE LIKE SOUR OIL.”

And Megatron opened the door. Both Wreckers looked up, plating ruffled and optics wild.

“Optimus, come.”

The Prime forced himself to take level steps, forced himself to not give in to his base instinct.

Never turn your back upon advancing forces.

“Ya threw us to the jaws of the machine, Prime!”, called Whirl, “But it’s alright, it’s all gravy.”

“Wreckers learned to care for our OWN.”, finished Perceptor, his voice like a bell tolling in a graveyard, “We don’t need fortunate sons OR messiahs.”

“So don’t expect us to grovel at your feet.”, snapped Whirl as Optimus paused at the door, meaning to speak again-

“Or we’ll be there to watch you fall on your knees.”, laughed Perceptor.

Optimus felt his intake go dry as he looked at the pair of Wreckers; Standing tall and side by side…

And staring at him; staring down at him though he still stood a head taller than both. And his spark knew true fear, and Divine Retribution dragged her servos down his spine and whispered in his audials-

_The bigger you are, the harder you **fall.**_


End file.
